Happy Holidays, shoebox_addict!
Dec. 18th, 2021 05:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeTitle: A Piece of Cake and Other Lies
Summary: Aziraphale is a town's only baker during World War II. He's doing his best to help everyone, but sadly he can't work miracles. Then one day he trips over a vagabond hiding in his shop. The man, Crowley, is clearly going through hard times himself, but this unlikely meeting may just turn out to give them both the miracles they desperately need.
Rating: T
Prompt: Human AU that takes place during WWII, but not on the battlefield. Maybe they're both too old to serve, or they were exempt for some reason.
No matter what the community thought, Aziraphale wasn't a miracle worker. He tried. He tried so hard to keep smiling and serving the many people who depended on him. They called him an angel, praised his seemingly endless kindness. They joked that he didn't need sleep, as he often went to bed late and always woke early. He was goodness personified as far as they were concerned. Always giving and never asking for anything in return.
But he wasn't an angel. He was just a baker. And he was completely exhausted.
Marjorie wanted a wedding cake.
She deserved one, of course. She'd finally won over old Shadwell and these days she was practically glowing with happiness over her upcoming wedding. It wasn't just the nuptials she was looking forward to though. She wanted a party. She wanted something that everyone in the neighborhood could actually look forward to. Something more tangible than a vague hope that things might become safe and normal again someday.
Things had been hard for everyone since the war started, of course. In truth, Aziraphale would like to attend a party as much as anyone.
But a cake.
It was morning and Aziraphale had been washing his hands. Now he was lightly banging his head against the mirror above the sink. Marjorie wanted a wedding cake. Everyone deserved a party. How could he have said no? But that didn't mean that he had any idea how he was going to pull this off.
Everything was being rationed now. Everything that was available at all, that was. Where was he supposed to get enough eggs for a wedding cake? Enough sugar? Flour was certainly out of the question. He'd have to make do with potatoes.
Aziraphale sighed and glanced at his old but reliable pocket watch. It was nearly 4:30 in the morning. It was time to get to work. Again. It was always time to work and never time to rest. Luckily he knew his business well by this time. He could manage the preparations for the day while half-asleep. Which is what he wound up doing.
That was probably why Aziraphale didn't notice the stranger on his floor until he tripped over him.
Aziraphale yelped as he toppled down, desperately trying to land without ruining the tray of rolls he'd been carrying to the oven. The tray fell hard. Aziraphale fell harder. He landed on his side, with his left arm taking most of his weight. It hurt, but not as much as seeing three of the still-sticky uncooked rolls land on the bakery floor. Aziraphale groaned. He worked to keep his workspace clean, but a floor was still no place for food to be. Or sleeping strangers, for that matter.
Aziraphale shook his head to gather his senses. Then he glared at his intruder.
“Errgh. Is it seriously morning already?” The man on the floor clutched at his side where Aziraphale had tripped over him. He sounded surprisingly indignant. “You're not very observant, are you? I'm going to have a bruise on my ribs for weeks!”
Aziraphale spluttered, opening and closing his mouth ineffectively. Finally he managed words. “Excuse you! Why should I have been looking for sleeping vagabonds in the safety of my shop?!”
But the stranger was ignoring him. He stood slowly and stretched, showing off just how long and gangly he was. Probably one of the many left malnourished by the war. The man yawned and looked around, then frowned at one of the windows. “Wait a minute. It's still dark out! Do you mean to tell me you ruined the only sleep I've gotten in days and it isn't even morning?!”
Wonderful. An entitled vagabond. Now that Aziraphale was fully awake and calmer, he felt he had a better grasp on the situation. This wasn't the first time his bakery had served as shelter to those in need. His unexpected guests usually had the decency to ask his permission first though.
Aziraphale rubbed absently at his wrist in annoyance, then quickly realized he had a more pressing problem to deal with. His wrist felt fine. Mostly. Until he bent it a bit too far. Then...Oh, dear. That hurt quite a bit. He felt himself go pale. This was not good.
He looked up at the man again, with horror in his eyes. “You...You menace!”
The man looked guarded now. “No need to make a fuss. I'll be on my way in a moment. I didn't steal anything if that's what you're worried about.”
“Don't be ridiculous!” Aziraphale huffed. “I would have let you sleep in and sent you off with some fresh bread if you'd bothered to tell me you were here! But now you've made me break my wrist!” He waved his injured arm in front of the stranger. “I'm a baker! How am I supposed to do my job with one hand? Who's going to feed this town now?”
The man's eyebrows went high. “What? I...You just fell over! Your wrist can't be broken!” Surprisingly, he sounded even more panicked than Aziraphale had. “I'll get someone to look at it! Does this town have a doctor?”
Aziraphale looked him up and down. The man was tall with bright red hair and a suit that had once been fashionable, now streaked with dirt and grime. Clearly this was a man who had seen better days, now reduced to breaking and entering to sleep on a bakery's floor. It was hard not to make assumptions about a man like that in times like these: he had to be a draft dodger.
Oh, dear. Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't have the energy for this. He'd just make this easy. “Nurse Potts lives in the pink house two streets south. You can go wake her up if you really want to help.”
The man nodded, a bit more rapidly than was necessary, then retrieved his hat and rushed out the door, presumably never to return. Good riddance. Aziraphale had enough to worry about now without also being concerned about some pathetic coward who only cared about his own well-being while so many were suffering and...
The man had looked so thin. Aziraphale felt a wave of guilt that he hadn't offered him some food for the road at least. Stupid. Aziraphale blinked rapidly. There was always something he overlooked, wasn't there? Something he failed at.
For the next twenty minutes Aziraphale dithered, trying to figure out what he should do next. He picked up the fallen dough and stared at it forlornly, not wanting to be wasteful but also not wanting to serve his customers dirty food. He needed to put the dough in the oven, mix the next set of ingredients, even just move the latest shipment of potatoes to the back. It was no use. There was nothing he could do with only one hand. Soon he was just sitting and panicking. This town needed him and he was failing them!
He was so lost in his own head that he almost didn't hear the brief knock on his door before Marjorie and the stranger burst in. Marjorie was carrying her medical bag in one hand and dragging the man along behind her with the other. He looked rather overwhelmed. In other circumstances it would have been funny.
“I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, dearie!” Marjorie said breathlessly. “Poor Mr. Crowley here had to practically break my door down to wake me up! Now, let's have a look at that wrist, shall we?”
Mr. Crowley? Aziraphale glanced at the stranger, feeling vaguely mystified. The man had a name, or at least an alias, and he had actually gone for help. For Aziraphale. There was something about that that was shifting something deep inside him. He couldn't stop staring at Mr. Crowley, even as he held his wrist out for Marjorie to examine.
She was quick and thorough, soon pronouncing the wrist merely sprained and not broken. Still, she wrapped it in a brace and warned Aziraphale not to use that hand as much as he could help it while it healed. It wasn't as bad as Aziraphale had feared, but he still felt helpless. He stared forlornly at his bandaged wrist as Marjorie packed up her medical bag then walked to the kitchen to make them all some tea. It was only then that Aziraphale noticed that Mr. Crowley was staring at him.
Aziraphale sighed, then did his best to smile. “Thank for fetching help, Mr. Crowley. That was very kind of you.”
Mr. Crowley made a face at the compliment. “Don't waste your time being polite. I'm the one who's put your livelihood at risk for the next few weeks. I'm surprised you haven't set loose the hell-hounds on me yet.”
“Heh.” Aziraphale's lips twitched. “And I'm surprised you didn't just run away when I gave you the chance!”
There was a pause. Mr. Crowley raised his eyebrows, seeming to take Aziraphale in properly for the first time. “Are you...really worried about being able to feed the town? Don't you have any assistants or apprentices?”
Aziraphale looked down. “Not anymore. They left some time ago. Felt they had to fight for their country. You know how it is.” Or maybe he didn't. He was probably a draft-dodger, after all. Still, it didn't seem polite to mention that part.
“Right. Of course.” Mr. Crowley sounded a bit bitter. Then his tone softened. “If you really don't have anyone else to help you, I could...if you don't mind...That is, I don't have much experience, but I'm a fast learner and I can follow instructions when I have a mind to.” He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “I can help. If you want me to stay.”
Life was always unpredictable during a war. That morning Aziraphale had felt alone and useless. By the end of the day his arm was in a sling, but he had a new companion and a burning drive to teach the poor man everything that could be shoved into his brain about running a bakery with rationing in effect.
It was...surprisingly fun.
0-0-0-0-0
Crowley was going to die. It was almost funny. After all he had done to not wind up bleeding out on a muddy battlefield far from home, he was going to die of exhaustion in a warm and cozy bakery, executed by a well-intentioned angel.
As a general rule, Crowley tried not to feel guilt. That was, after all, a sure way to be haunted by the many, many, mistakes he'd made in life. But when he'd...contributed to the situation that led to Aziraphale's injury, Crowley had felt a very primal panic. Without the local baker, how was the town going to get their bread? Was Crowley really going to run while literal traumatized children starved because of him? Crowley knew he wasn't a good man, but he wasn't that far gone either.
So he offered to stick around for a bit, until Aziraphale healed or a suitable substitute could be found. And Aziraphale had lit up like the dawn. Crowley didn't know if anyone had ever smiled at him like that before. It made his heart do a funny, jittery thing. Really, he should have known he was in trouble at that point.
Now it had been a week of boiling endless potatoes, mixing, prepping ovens, carefully only using the exact number of eggs he absolutely had to, and treating butter like it was more precious than gold. The hours were long and the work was exhausting for someone who wasn't used to it. Crowley had collapsed onto his cot early every night, immediately dead to the world. He was not particularly happy about it when a hand shook him awake shortly after he'd dived head-first into his pillow one night. He may have actually growled.
“No need for any of that, dear boy. I'll only keep you a moment and then you're welcome to go back to sleep.”
Crowley grumbled again and turned his head to look at Aziraphale with narrowed eyes. “Can this really not wait until tomorrow? You'd better not be here to tell me I missed some bit of cleaning or prep work. It's too late. You can't get me out of bed now. Would be a crime against humanity.”
Aziraphale snorted, but looked at him with surprising fondness. “Actually, I'm here to avoid committing a 'crime against humanity.'” He held up an envelope. “It's payday. Sorry I forgot to get this to you earlier. Here is your pay for the week.”
“My...pay?” Crowley blinked a few times, waking up a bit more.
He sat up and took the envelope as though it might bite. Inside there was more money than Crowley had seen in months. He stared. “Is this a weird joke? Are you going to take it all back in a second to pay for my room and board?”
He glanced at Aziraphale as the man made an odd huffing noise. He was holding a hand to his chest and looking quite affronted. “Crowley! Are you suggesting that I'm an unethical businessman? I assure you, I would never stoop to robbing you of your hard-earned wages!”
“Right...” Crowley considered the money again. “I just...didn't think this was a paying gig.”
Aziraphale's expression softened. “That's very kind of you.” Crowley winced. “But you have earned this money and I can afford to pay it. Besides, I thought it might make things...easier. For both of us. If I officially hired you.”
At that Crowley raised an eyebrow. Maybe his weariness was making his brain sluggish, but he had a sense that Aziraphale was delicately alluding to something serious. Crowley just wasn't sure what. “What do you mean? It's too late to be talking in riddles.”
“It's seven in the evening.”
“Yeah. Past my bedtime, so hurry up!”
Aziraphale chuckled dryly and Crowley tried to ignore the little hop of happiness in his heart.
“Alright, I suppose you deserve to know the truth,” Aziraphale admitted. “You see... there have been some people asking questions about you. They want to know who you are, why you're with me, why...why you aren't fighting in the war.”
Crowley inhaled deeply through his nose. Aziraphale looked down and away from him. He looked pained, though Crowley wasn't sure why. Crowley was the one with his neck on the line after all. “So. What have you been telling them?”
“The truth! Well, mostly.” Aziraphale blushed. “I've been telling them that you're my new temporary assistant. You happened to get here the day I injured myself. I just...You've been very kind this week and I didn't want you to get in trouble. I mean, well, I suppose I don't really know your story. You haven't said anything about where you came from.”
Here Aziraphale glanced up at Crowley again, silently offering Crowley the chance to speak up and explain his mysterious past a bit. Crowley nodded in acknowledgment, but stayed silent. He was done trying to justify or explain himself. This sunny baker was welcome to judge him as much as anyone else.
There was a quiet moment between them. Then Aziraphale nodded slightly back and went on explaining. “Yes, I suppose it doesn't matter. We all know it's hell out there right now. Everyone has someone out there, far from home, that they're terrified to lose. There's barely any telling the wives from the widows anymore. I suppose we're all just getting by however we can.”
This time Crowley raised both eyebrows, but Aziraphale suddenly turned like he was about to leave. “You should sleep,” he said. “We have another busy day tomorrow. But...I did want you to know that I may not be able to offer you quite the amount of protection I'd prefer. There are a number of locals who resent that I've been exempt from the draft. There have been, let's say, unpleasant incidents. And a few broken windows. They say I'm a coward for staying when so many sons and husbands are gone.”
Aziraphale was looking away again. His voice got quieter. “I don't always disagree with them.”
Oh. Crowley blinked. It had been a long time since anyone had shown him a slice of vulnerability like this. It felt delicate and tender. Crowley was left feeling somehow both warm and hollow. He didn't know what to do with it. He was tongue-tied and now Aziraphale was leaving through the doorway.
“Wait!” Crowley cried. Immediately Aziraphale stopped and looked back at him. “Um. Just. Thanks. For the pay and being kind and everything else.” Crowley took a deep breath. He wanted to offer something in return. It felt important. “For what it's worth, I know what cowardice looks like. It's not you. Cowards don't care about others like you do.”
Aziraphale blinked in surprise, then smiled. It was a small smile. It was easy to see that he didn't fully believe Crowley, but Aziraphale seemed grateful all the same. It made Crowley feel warmer inside just to look at him.
0-0-0-0-0
The next day there was a blizzard. It was a bit early in the season for it. Aziraphale wasn't ready. He woke even earlier than usual in the cold and scrambled through his room to dig out his warmest layers. He was halfway into his thickest jumper when a thought gave him a fresh chill from within.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed in horror and rushed downstairs.
Crowley had been sleeping in a cot in the kitchen. During the day the area was usually pleasantly warm from the oven and constant activity. However Aziraphale knew all too well how cold things could get there by morning, especially on days like this. Sure enough, when he arrived in the kitchen he immediately saw Crowley curled up entirely underneath a blanket that seemed all too thin. He was clearly shivering.
“Oh, my poor dear,” Aziraphale whispered. He hurried to Crowley's side. “Crowley! Are you alright? Are you awake?”
He pulled the blanket down from Crowley's head. Crowley continued to shake, but soon opened his eyes, blinking a few times before focusing on Aziraphale's worried face. “Is there an angel here to collect me? And here I wasn't even selling matches.”
Aziraphale's brow crinkled further. Was Crowley delirious from the cold? Did he need medical help?
Then Crowley smiled weakly. “Wait. Is it time to get up finally? Thank someone! Hurry up, let's get the bloody oven up to temp already!”
Alright, so at least Crowley was sounding coherent now. Aziraphale gave a small sigh of relief and watched as Crowley slowly sat up, keeping his blanket tightly wrapped around him.
“Don't be absurd, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said sternly. “Our first order of business is most certainly to get you warmed up! Come upstairs. I'll prepare you a hot water bottle and a pot of tea for the both of us.”
Crowley moved slowly but didn't protest. Aziraphale suspected he wouldn't have the energy to argue even if he'd wanted to. Why had the poor man stayed downstairs all night shivering to death? Did Crowley think Aziraphale would be cross with him for going upstairs? For seeking warmth, life?
Aziraphale realized with a sudden guilty clarity that he had not once invited Crowley upstairs to his living space in the week Crowley had been living in the bakery. Partly Aziraphale had felt self-conscious of the many messes around his home, but it had also felt wise to maintain some form of boundaries. Now it all just seemed unbearably rude.
The obvious place to put Crowley was directly in Aziraphale's bed. The blankets were even likely to still be warm, Aziraphale had gotten out of them so recently. It was absurd, but Aziraphale couldn't help blushing at the salacious idea of having a handsome man in his bed. It had certainly been a while since that had happened. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley had heard the rumors about him in town yet. Would Crowley feel uncomfortable getting into the bed of a man attracted to other men?
Aziraphale needn't have worried. As soon as he brought Crowley into the bedroom, Crowley dived under the covers without a second thought. Apparently he was well past the point of caring about propriety. Then Crowley began shivering again, even under three thick blankets.
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said with a fresh wave of worry. “Oh Crowley, I'm so sorry I let things get this bad! I...I'll heat up that water right away!”
He turned to leave, but Crowley cried out sharply after him. “No!”
“...What?”
Crowley peeked a single eye out from beneath the covers. Was he glaring? Was he angry?
“Body heat,” he said in a clipped tone. “Cuddles. Now.” There was a shaky breath. “Please.”
It was the 'please' that got Aziraphale. He had always been like putty when people pleaded with him for things. He hurried back to Crowley's side, just hoping he was doing something right for a change.
0-0-0-0
Crowley was used to hard nights by now. Still, he had been concerned about the coming winter. It was too easy to die on the streets in weather like that. When the kitchen's temperature had begun to drop Crowley had curled up as best he could and prayed for morning. He couldn't risk anything else. What if the nice baker kicked him out, like an angel casting Crowley from heaven? What if Crowley had already used up all his second chances? He was cold, but he was still inside. He could survive this. He would survive.
The next thing Crowley was really aware of was the sensation of being warm. And comfortable. He knew those things didn't belong in his life anymore, but he chased the sensations like a dream anyway. His nose nuzzled against something soft. Something that smelled good...and human.
Slowly Crowley blinked back to awareness. He was in a bed. Aziraphale had found him shivering, brought him upstairs. Crowley remembered passing over-crowded bookcases on the way. Then more memories slotted into place. He recalled...a rather embarrassing demand.
It wasn't sexual. Of course it wasn't sexual. Crowley had been out of his mind with cold. He'd have constricted himself around a hot rock. Admittedly this was a lot nicer but, well, Crowley wasn't sure how he could get out of this entanglement without a very awkward conversation or two. He slowly moved his leg off of Aziraphale, hoping against hope that the kind baker he'd been crushing his crotch against was asleep and unaware.
“Crowley? Are you awake?” Aziraphale asked softly, but without a hint of sleepiness.
He froze. “Ah....”
“Oh, good!” Aziraphale quickly climbed out of the bed, leaving Crowley feeling strangely bereft. “I didn't want to leave you alone while you were still warming up. However, I'm afraid I really must run to the loo. I'll be back in a moment!”
Crowley blinked as Aziraphale hurried from the room. Alright. Well, that could have gone worse. Crowley was warm and alive and better-rested than he had been in weeks. Now he just had to...Wait, why was the room so bright?
There was daylight streaming in around the curtains. Strong daylight. Crowley's stomach plummeted and he quickly turned to the clock on the nightstand. He had been asleep, and aggressively cuddling his host, for hours.
The bakery was hopelessly behind schedule! Crowley practically jumped out of the bed with a bone-deep terror and the desperate need to prove he could still be useful. He needed to make sure that Aziraphale would still let him stay. He...He didn't want to go. Not yet.
He crashed into Aziraphale in the hall. They were both apparently in a great hurry to go in opposite directions.
“Ooof!”
“Sorry!”
“That's quite alright, my dear. I'm just happy to see you up and about. What do you say to a bit of brunch? Though I'm afraid you'd still have to do most of the cooking. My wrist is getting a bit better, but well...”
Aziraphale wasn't looking at Crowley. Instead he was focused on Crowley's left ear and blushing a lot more than one generally would about asking someone to help them cook. Crowley swallowed, feeling uncertain.
“Shouldn't we be getting started with, y'know, the baking? I...I've already made us so late!”
Aziraphale looked surprised. “My dear, I'm glad you're feeling better, but I'm certainly not going to expect you to work in the bakery today! You deserve a day to recover. Besides, I doubt many will be braving the outside as far as the shop today. It should be fine if we stay closed just this once. We'll get back on schedule tomorrow.”
That sounded...good. Too good to be true even. Crowley nodded, but watched Aziraphale carefully, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “...Alright then. In that case brunch sounds like a good idea.”
The house was still freezing, so Aziraphale went to “have a word with the furnace” while Crowley began cooking, a thick jumper pressed into his hands in the meantime. It smelled like Aziraphale. Despite Crowley's best efforts, that scent was starting to mean kindness to him too.
A few minutes later the radiator started making promising noises and Aziraphale returned, looking pleased. Crowley smiled and plated their food. He liked their mealtimes. They felt almost homey.
He didn't get much warning before Aziraphale frowned and looked away from him. “Um. About earlier...”
Crowley's cheeks immediately went as red as his hair. Fuck. So they weren't going to just pretend it hadn't happened. Right. Time to do some damage control. “Yes! Of course! Uh, I mean...thank you for letting me warm up and get some rest. You didn't have to. I would have been fine. Not that I'm not grateful! I just...I don't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness!”
Aziraphale blinked. “Taking advantage? What on Earth are you talking about? I want to apologize for leaving you to freeze last night! It's inexcusable. I knew winter was on its way and that my heating is touchy. I'm sorry that you had to suffer for my thoughtlessness.” He bit his lip, still looking rather miserable. “And I hope that I didn't make you too uncomfortable when I...when we...while we were upstairs.”
Now Crowley was staring as Aziraphale went pink. Crowley was used to being on guard, jaded and cynical about the world as a means of staying safe. Suddenly though, it was impossible not to see the vulnerable truth in front of him. Aziraphale was just as he seemed to be. He was as warm and soft as the bread he baked. And the world hadn't been very kind to him either.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley considered carefully, “you know you're...that you deserve good things, right? That you're not a coward or cruel or thoughtless?”
And Aziraphale gave him a familiar sad smile, clearly not believing him. Fine, he could be more direct if he had to.
“So...you fancy blokes, don't you?”
Aziraphale immediately chocked on a sip of tea. “I...well...what?”
Crowley shrugged. “It's fairly obvious. Makes a few comments folks have made make more sense too. I'm guessing it's one of the things that people have been ugly with you about over the years. Maybe even made you hate yourself.”
He continued gently. “I know you didn't mean anything lascivious this morning.” Crowley flicked his eyes up to briefly to meet Aziraphale's gaze squarely. “I didn't either.”
He tried to emphasize some layers of meaning in the sentence. Aziraphale stared back at him in wonder, each of them communicating something complicated and delicate.
“So,” Crowley said casually, “it seems we have a day off. What would you like to do with it? Got some books to catch up on?”
“Ah. Well.” Aziraphale sighed regretfully. “That would be truly lovely. Unfortunately I have a special assignment that I've been putting off. I really should take this time to focus on it. Though I'm not sure how much help that will be.”
“What do you mean?”
“It's about Marjorie Potts. You remember, the nurse you fetched when I hurt my wrist?”
Crowley quirked an eyebrow. It seemed they were past explicitly blaming him for Aziraphale's sprained wrist now. “I think I can recall the incident. If I stretch my memory.”
That earned him a rueful look, but Aziraphale continued. “In any case, Marjorie has recently gotten engaged to old Mr. Shadwell. She...asked me if I could make a cake for the wedding.”
Crowley raised both eyebrows at that. “And you told her that's impossible, right? I mean, I've only been in this baking business for a week, but making any cake sounds like more than you could handle right now even if you had both hands. Never mind a wedding cake! Does she actually want tiers? And frosting? I know you're good with potatoes, Aziraphale, but they can only do so much!”
But Aziraphale winced and looked guilty and it was easy to tell he had promised his friend the moon. “It's just...times are so hard right now. The people of this town deserve one nice day! A party! One day where everything looks the way it's supposed to and they can all be happy for a change!”
“Heh. You really are an angel, aren't you?” Crowley smirked as Aziraphale blushed. “I also think this is the reason you looked so miserable and sleep-deprived when I got here. It's just not in you to tell people 'no', is it?”
“Well, I...”
“Don't worry, angel. I think this is actually something I can help with.”
0-0-0-0-0-0
A few hours later Aziraphale was in his sitting room, attempting to enjoy the first real free time he'd had in weeks. He had a book open, an old favorite, but although his eyes were traveling the pages he wasn't taking in a word. He was here because of Crowley. Crowley had insisted that Aziraphale enjoy himself this afternoon, ushered him upstairs, and then turned himself into a whirlwind of energy.
That was what Aziraphale gathered from upstairs at any rate. For a while now he'd been listening to various mysterious, and sometimes alarming, noises coming from downstairs. There were bangs and swearing and then a brief peace where Crowley moved outside to shovel then disappeared for half an hour. At several points Aziraphale could have sworn he even heard a saw cutting through something. He was trying not to think too hard about it.
He was trying not to think too hard about several things. Like the way Crowley had started to call him angel. Or the way they had looked at each other over brunch. If Aziraphale thought about them, he might be inclined to believe they meant something and that seemed like a very dangerous idea indeed.
It was nearly five o'clock when Crowley finally called up to him. “Oi! Angel! Come down here! I have a surprise for you!”
Aziraphale bit his lip, but still wiggled with anticipation. He was certainly quite curious by now. The first thing he noticed on the way down the stairs was an odd smell. It was the aroma of a newly built house, all sawdust and fresh paint. What on Earth had his guest been up to?
His eyes widened as he turned into the kitchen. It was an absolute mess, but thankfully a well-managed one. Old newspapers had been laid out on every surface, catching bits of wood, cardboard, and paint. Aziraphale didn't pay them much mind though, because there was an honest-to-goodness three-tiered wedding cake sitting on his counter.
It was nothing short of a miracle.
“It's, um, it's not real. Obviously,” Crowley said sheepishly from beside it. “But from what you were saying, about things looking right for the wedding, I thought maybe this could be a good stand-in. It could make people feel a bit happier about it all.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale blinked rapidly, “it's magnificent! How did you make it look so realistic?”
“Eh...” Crowley shrugged and looked away. “I may have been a bit of an artist in a previous life. It's not important. I just heard this was something they were doing in London and I thought I'd try my hand at it.”
Aziraphale considered Crowley. An artist? This man just seemed to be full of endless secrets and surprises. “Well, you've certainly lifted a burden from me. This will be perfect! I'm sure Marjorie will love it.”
And Crowley smiled like he hadn't been complimented in a long time and he wasn't sure what to do with it. “Um. Okay. Thanks.”
They spent the rest of the day together, cleaning up and laughing. Aziraphale hadn't felt so happy in years. Soon though, it was time for them to get some sleep for another early day tomorrow. They both paused awkwardly over saying good-night.
“So I, um, I guess I'll head down to my cot,” Crowley said with obvious reluctance. “I mean, you fixed the heater, so I should be fine tonight.”
This was the moment Aziraphale had been dreading, the moment where he had to be brave and take a chance. He had to take the risk that he was doing something right. This time for both of them.
“You...” he gulped. “You don't have to. I mean, if you're not opposed, we've already proven there's more than enough space in my, er, room.”
Crowley looked just as nervous as Aziraphale felt. He prayed it was for the same reasons.
“You want me to sleep in your bed? With you? Tonight?”
“And as many nights as you'd like after that,” Aziraphale said, blushing furiously. “To...to keep warm. It's only practical. I'm certainly not going to expect anything else of you. I wouldn't want to presume or make you feel pressured or...” He trailed off. Crowley was brushing his hand along Aziraphale's cheek.
Crowley's gaze was dark and searching. “What if I wanted you to presume? What if I wanted to do more than keep you warm?”
He took a slow step forward toward Aziraphale. They were breathing each other's air now. Aziraphale felt dizzy, desperately trying to think straight. Was this right? Was this safe? He barely knew anything about Crowley and...and it didn't matter. Aziraphale had been alone far too long. Maybe he was being reckless, but he couldn't resist temptation any longer. He leaned forward and closed the final space between them.
Aziraphale had forgotten how good it felt to kiss, never mind kissing someone he genuinely liked. Crowley seemed out of practice too, but he more than made up for it with enthusiasm. Together they stumbled toward Aziraphale's bed and then spent a long amount of time learning every inch of each other's bodies.
It was good, so good, every moment of it.
Afterwards, they lay together, wrapped in each other's arms. Doubts started to worm their way back into Aziraphale's mind. He wanted this, more of this, so much it hurt. It scared him. He didn't know how to ask for things for himself. He didn't see himself as someone anyone else would choose. That whole day had been so perfect, but did that mean his heart would only be broken more in the end?
It took him a while to notice that Crowley was being quiet too. The air in the room was heavy with both their thoughts. Was he having fears? Regrets?
“Is something wrong, my dear?” Aziraphale found the courage to ask.
It took Crowley a moment to answer. He began to rub small circles on Aziraphale's back. “There are things you don't know about me.”
“...I know.”
“They're things you're better off not knowing. And some of them might make you regret being so kind to me.”
Aziraphale shifted from Crowley's chest and looked at the shadowy outline of his face. “I'm afraid of a great many things in this world, Crowley. Being kind is never one of them.”
“Don't you want to know my dark, mysterious past?”
“Do you want me to know about it?”
“No. Yes. Maybe someday. Not now.”
“Then I'll wait for someday, my dear.”
“It could take years,” Crowley warned.
Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley's hair. “I'm not planning on going anywhere. Are you?”
Crowley drew in a sharp breath. It sounded like a noise of disbelief. Maybe with a bit of hope. “I...Angel, I'll be here for as long as you'll have me.”
0-0-0-0-0-0
Perhaps there's something about the frightening nature of war that puts things in perspective for people. It made certain choices easier to make, sometimes easier to commit to.
Crowley and Aziraphale each suspected they were in love by the end of their first week together. They both admitted as much within a month, breathless and holding each other tight.
Marjorie's wedding with Mr. Shadwell was a delightful splash of light and color that winter, with everyone still in town attending. There was music and laughter and the town bakers were heartily encouraged to stay up late into the night. Marjorie made a point of introducing Crowley to everyone and crediting him with her gorgeous cake. The amount of welcome he felt that day left him taking a break to wipe his eyes more than once.
At one point Aziraphale joined him and they enjoyed a quiet dance together outside, surrounded by the glittering snow.
A few weeks later, Aziraphale's wrist finished healing. There was a tense moment when Crowley asked if Aziraphale still wanted him to stay. Were their feelings actually real? Had Aziraphale meant all the things he'd said to Crowley in the dark? Or was it enough that Crowley had simply paid his debt?
Aziraphale told him to stop being silly.
“I want you stay. I'll always want you to stay. Maybe it's too soon to ask for forever, but I have no doubt it's what I want. Is it what you want too?”
And Crowley had to pick Aziraphale up and kiss him, he felt filled with so much love.
There were years after that. Years with dark times and tragedy, but years where they both always had a reassuring hand to hold. The war finally ended. Some soldiers came home. Hope started to become less of a fool's dream.
Aziraphale learned Crowley's story with time, in bits and pieces. Some things Crowley told him, others he guessed, and a few things were rather dramatically revealed, requiring a very hectic week to square away.
He never once regretted being kind.
It was, in many ways, a piece of cake.
Summary: Aziraphale is a town's only baker during World War II. He's doing his best to help everyone, but sadly he can't work miracles. Then one day he trips over a vagabond hiding in his shop. The man, Crowley, is clearly going through hard times himself, but this unlikely meeting may just turn out to give them both the miracles they desperately need.
Rating: T
Prompt: Human AU that takes place during WWII, but not on the battlefield. Maybe they're both too old to serve, or they were exempt for some reason.
No matter what the community thought, Aziraphale wasn't a miracle worker. He tried. He tried so hard to keep smiling and serving the many people who depended on him. They called him an angel, praised his seemingly endless kindness. They joked that he didn't need sleep, as he often went to bed late and always woke early. He was goodness personified as far as they were concerned. Always giving and never asking for anything in return.
But he wasn't an angel. He was just a baker. And he was completely exhausted.
Marjorie wanted a wedding cake.
She deserved one, of course. She'd finally won over old Shadwell and these days she was practically glowing with happiness over her upcoming wedding. It wasn't just the nuptials she was looking forward to though. She wanted a party. She wanted something that everyone in the neighborhood could actually look forward to. Something more tangible than a vague hope that things might become safe and normal again someday.
Things had been hard for everyone since the war started, of course. In truth, Aziraphale would like to attend a party as much as anyone.
But a cake.
It was morning and Aziraphale had been washing his hands. Now he was lightly banging his head against the mirror above the sink. Marjorie wanted a wedding cake. Everyone deserved a party. How could he have said no? But that didn't mean that he had any idea how he was going to pull this off.
Everything was being rationed now. Everything that was available at all, that was. Where was he supposed to get enough eggs for a wedding cake? Enough sugar? Flour was certainly out of the question. He'd have to make do with potatoes.
Aziraphale sighed and glanced at his old but reliable pocket watch. It was nearly 4:30 in the morning. It was time to get to work. Again. It was always time to work and never time to rest. Luckily he knew his business well by this time. He could manage the preparations for the day while half-asleep. Which is what he wound up doing.
That was probably why Aziraphale didn't notice the stranger on his floor until he tripped over him.
Aziraphale yelped as he toppled down, desperately trying to land without ruining the tray of rolls he'd been carrying to the oven. The tray fell hard. Aziraphale fell harder. He landed on his side, with his left arm taking most of his weight. It hurt, but not as much as seeing three of the still-sticky uncooked rolls land on the bakery floor. Aziraphale groaned. He worked to keep his workspace clean, but a floor was still no place for food to be. Or sleeping strangers, for that matter.
Aziraphale shook his head to gather his senses. Then he glared at his intruder.
“Errgh. Is it seriously morning already?” The man on the floor clutched at his side where Aziraphale had tripped over him. He sounded surprisingly indignant. “You're not very observant, are you? I'm going to have a bruise on my ribs for weeks!”
Aziraphale spluttered, opening and closing his mouth ineffectively. Finally he managed words. “Excuse you! Why should I have been looking for sleeping vagabonds in the safety of my shop?!”
But the stranger was ignoring him. He stood slowly and stretched, showing off just how long and gangly he was. Probably one of the many left malnourished by the war. The man yawned and looked around, then frowned at one of the windows. “Wait a minute. It's still dark out! Do you mean to tell me you ruined the only sleep I've gotten in days and it isn't even morning?!”
Wonderful. An entitled vagabond. Now that Aziraphale was fully awake and calmer, he felt he had a better grasp on the situation. This wasn't the first time his bakery had served as shelter to those in need. His unexpected guests usually had the decency to ask his permission first though.
Aziraphale rubbed absently at his wrist in annoyance, then quickly realized he had a more pressing problem to deal with. His wrist felt fine. Mostly. Until he bent it a bit too far. Then...Oh, dear. That hurt quite a bit. He felt himself go pale. This was not good.
He looked up at the man again, with horror in his eyes. “You...You menace!”
The man looked guarded now. “No need to make a fuss. I'll be on my way in a moment. I didn't steal anything if that's what you're worried about.”
“Don't be ridiculous!” Aziraphale huffed. “I would have let you sleep in and sent you off with some fresh bread if you'd bothered to tell me you were here! But now you've made me break my wrist!” He waved his injured arm in front of the stranger. “I'm a baker! How am I supposed to do my job with one hand? Who's going to feed this town now?”
The man's eyebrows went high. “What? I...You just fell over! Your wrist can't be broken!” Surprisingly, he sounded even more panicked than Aziraphale had. “I'll get someone to look at it! Does this town have a doctor?”
Aziraphale looked him up and down. The man was tall with bright red hair and a suit that had once been fashionable, now streaked with dirt and grime. Clearly this was a man who had seen better days, now reduced to breaking and entering to sleep on a bakery's floor. It was hard not to make assumptions about a man like that in times like these: he had to be a draft dodger.
Oh, dear. Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't have the energy for this. He'd just make this easy. “Nurse Potts lives in the pink house two streets south. You can go wake her up if you really want to help.”
The man nodded, a bit more rapidly than was necessary, then retrieved his hat and rushed out the door, presumably never to return. Good riddance. Aziraphale had enough to worry about now without also being concerned about some pathetic coward who only cared about his own well-being while so many were suffering and...
The man had looked so thin. Aziraphale felt a wave of guilt that he hadn't offered him some food for the road at least. Stupid. Aziraphale blinked rapidly. There was always something he overlooked, wasn't there? Something he failed at.
For the next twenty minutes Aziraphale dithered, trying to figure out what he should do next. He picked up the fallen dough and stared at it forlornly, not wanting to be wasteful but also not wanting to serve his customers dirty food. He needed to put the dough in the oven, mix the next set of ingredients, even just move the latest shipment of potatoes to the back. It was no use. There was nothing he could do with only one hand. Soon he was just sitting and panicking. This town needed him and he was failing them!
He was so lost in his own head that he almost didn't hear the brief knock on his door before Marjorie and the stranger burst in. Marjorie was carrying her medical bag in one hand and dragging the man along behind her with the other. He looked rather overwhelmed. In other circumstances it would have been funny.
“I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, dearie!” Marjorie said breathlessly. “Poor Mr. Crowley here had to practically break my door down to wake me up! Now, let's have a look at that wrist, shall we?”
Mr. Crowley? Aziraphale glanced at the stranger, feeling vaguely mystified. The man had a name, or at least an alias, and he had actually gone for help. For Aziraphale. There was something about that that was shifting something deep inside him. He couldn't stop staring at Mr. Crowley, even as he held his wrist out for Marjorie to examine.
She was quick and thorough, soon pronouncing the wrist merely sprained and not broken. Still, she wrapped it in a brace and warned Aziraphale not to use that hand as much as he could help it while it healed. It wasn't as bad as Aziraphale had feared, but he still felt helpless. He stared forlornly at his bandaged wrist as Marjorie packed up her medical bag then walked to the kitchen to make them all some tea. It was only then that Aziraphale noticed that Mr. Crowley was staring at him.
Aziraphale sighed, then did his best to smile. “Thank for fetching help, Mr. Crowley. That was very kind of you.”
Mr. Crowley made a face at the compliment. “Don't waste your time being polite. I'm the one who's put your livelihood at risk for the next few weeks. I'm surprised you haven't set loose the hell-hounds on me yet.”
“Heh.” Aziraphale's lips twitched. “And I'm surprised you didn't just run away when I gave you the chance!”
There was a pause. Mr. Crowley raised his eyebrows, seeming to take Aziraphale in properly for the first time. “Are you...really worried about being able to feed the town? Don't you have any assistants or apprentices?”
Aziraphale looked down. “Not anymore. They left some time ago. Felt they had to fight for their country. You know how it is.” Or maybe he didn't. He was probably a draft-dodger, after all. Still, it didn't seem polite to mention that part.
“Right. Of course.” Mr. Crowley sounded a bit bitter. Then his tone softened. “If you really don't have anyone else to help you, I could...if you don't mind...That is, I don't have much experience, but I'm a fast learner and I can follow instructions when I have a mind to.” He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “I can help. If you want me to stay.”
Life was always unpredictable during a war. That morning Aziraphale had felt alone and useless. By the end of the day his arm was in a sling, but he had a new companion and a burning drive to teach the poor man everything that could be shoved into his brain about running a bakery with rationing in effect.
It was...surprisingly fun.
0-0-0-0-0
Crowley was going to die. It was almost funny. After all he had done to not wind up bleeding out on a muddy battlefield far from home, he was going to die of exhaustion in a warm and cozy bakery, executed by a well-intentioned angel.
As a general rule, Crowley tried not to feel guilt. That was, after all, a sure way to be haunted by the many, many, mistakes he'd made in life. But when he'd...contributed to the situation that led to Aziraphale's injury, Crowley had felt a very primal panic. Without the local baker, how was the town going to get their bread? Was Crowley really going to run while literal traumatized children starved because of him? Crowley knew he wasn't a good man, but he wasn't that far gone either.
So he offered to stick around for a bit, until Aziraphale healed or a suitable substitute could be found. And Aziraphale had lit up like the dawn. Crowley didn't know if anyone had ever smiled at him like that before. It made his heart do a funny, jittery thing. Really, he should have known he was in trouble at that point.
Now it had been a week of boiling endless potatoes, mixing, prepping ovens, carefully only using the exact number of eggs he absolutely had to, and treating butter like it was more precious than gold. The hours were long and the work was exhausting for someone who wasn't used to it. Crowley had collapsed onto his cot early every night, immediately dead to the world. He was not particularly happy about it when a hand shook him awake shortly after he'd dived head-first into his pillow one night. He may have actually growled.
“No need for any of that, dear boy. I'll only keep you a moment and then you're welcome to go back to sleep.”
Crowley grumbled again and turned his head to look at Aziraphale with narrowed eyes. “Can this really not wait until tomorrow? You'd better not be here to tell me I missed some bit of cleaning or prep work. It's too late. You can't get me out of bed now. Would be a crime against humanity.”
Aziraphale snorted, but looked at him with surprising fondness. “Actually, I'm here to avoid committing a 'crime against humanity.'” He held up an envelope. “It's payday. Sorry I forgot to get this to you earlier. Here is your pay for the week.”
“My...pay?” Crowley blinked a few times, waking up a bit more.
He sat up and took the envelope as though it might bite. Inside there was more money than Crowley had seen in months. He stared. “Is this a weird joke? Are you going to take it all back in a second to pay for my room and board?”
He glanced at Aziraphale as the man made an odd huffing noise. He was holding a hand to his chest and looking quite affronted. “Crowley! Are you suggesting that I'm an unethical businessman? I assure you, I would never stoop to robbing you of your hard-earned wages!”
“Right...” Crowley considered the money again. “I just...didn't think this was a paying gig.”
Aziraphale's expression softened. “That's very kind of you.” Crowley winced. “But you have earned this money and I can afford to pay it. Besides, I thought it might make things...easier. For both of us. If I officially hired you.”
At that Crowley raised an eyebrow. Maybe his weariness was making his brain sluggish, but he had a sense that Aziraphale was delicately alluding to something serious. Crowley just wasn't sure what. “What do you mean? It's too late to be talking in riddles.”
“It's seven in the evening.”
“Yeah. Past my bedtime, so hurry up!”
Aziraphale chuckled dryly and Crowley tried to ignore the little hop of happiness in his heart.
“Alright, I suppose you deserve to know the truth,” Aziraphale admitted. “You see... there have been some people asking questions about you. They want to know who you are, why you're with me, why...why you aren't fighting in the war.”
Crowley inhaled deeply through his nose. Aziraphale looked down and away from him. He looked pained, though Crowley wasn't sure why. Crowley was the one with his neck on the line after all. “So. What have you been telling them?”
“The truth! Well, mostly.” Aziraphale blushed. “I've been telling them that you're my new temporary assistant. You happened to get here the day I injured myself. I just...You've been very kind this week and I didn't want you to get in trouble. I mean, well, I suppose I don't really know your story. You haven't said anything about where you came from.”
Here Aziraphale glanced up at Crowley again, silently offering Crowley the chance to speak up and explain his mysterious past a bit. Crowley nodded in acknowledgment, but stayed silent. He was done trying to justify or explain himself. This sunny baker was welcome to judge him as much as anyone else.
There was a quiet moment between them. Then Aziraphale nodded slightly back and went on explaining. “Yes, I suppose it doesn't matter. We all know it's hell out there right now. Everyone has someone out there, far from home, that they're terrified to lose. There's barely any telling the wives from the widows anymore. I suppose we're all just getting by however we can.”
This time Crowley raised both eyebrows, but Aziraphale suddenly turned like he was about to leave. “You should sleep,” he said. “We have another busy day tomorrow. But...I did want you to know that I may not be able to offer you quite the amount of protection I'd prefer. There are a number of locals who resent that I've been exempt from the draft. There have been, let's say, unpleasant incidents. And a few broken windows. They say I'm a coward for staying when so many sons and husbands are gone.”
Aziraphale was looking away again. His voice got quieter. “I don't always disagree with them.”
Oh. Crowley blinked. It had been a long time since anyone had shown him a slice of vulnerability like this. It felt delicate and tender. Crowley was left feeling somehow both warm and hollow. He didn't know what to do with it. He was tongue-tied and now Aziraphale was leaving through the doorway.
“Wait!” Crowley cried. Immediately Aziraphale stopped and looked back at him. “Um. Just. Thanks. For the pay and being kind and everything else.” Crowley took a deep breath. He wanted to offer something in return. It felt important. “For what it's worth, I know what cowardice looks like. It's not you. Cowards don't care about others like you do.”
Aziraphale blinked in surprise, then smiled. It was a small smile. It was easy to see that he didn't fully believe Crowley, but Aziraphale seemed grateful all the same. It made Crowley feel warmer inside just to look at him.
0-0-0-0-0
The next day there was a blizzard. It was a bit early in the season for it. Aziraphale wasn't ready. He woke even earlier than usual in the cold and scrambled through his room to dig out his warmest layers. He was halfway into his thickest jumper when a thought gave him a fresh chill from within.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed in horror and rushed downstairs.
Crowley had been sleeping in a cot in the kitchen. During the day the area was usually pleasantly warm from the oven and constant activity. However Aziraphale knew all too well how cold things could get there by morning, especially on days like this. Sure enough, when he arrived in the kitchen he immediately saw Crowley curled up entirely underneath a blanket that seemed all too thin. He was clearly shivering.
“Oh, my poor dear,” Aziraphale whispered. He hurried to Crowley's side. “Crowley! Are you alright? Are you awake?”
He pulled the blanket down from Crowley's head. Crowley continued to shake, but soon opened his eyes, blinking a few times before focusing on Aziraphale's worried face. “Is there an angel here to collect me? And here I wasn't even selling matches.”
Aziraphale's brow crinkled further. Was Crowley delirious from the cold? Did he need medical help?
Then Crowley smiled weakly. “Wait. Is it time to get up finally? Thank someone! Hurry up, let's get the bloody oven up to temp already!”
Alright, so at least Crowley was sounding coherent now. Aziraphale gave a small sigh of relief and watched as Crowley slowly sat up, keeping his blanket tightly wrapped around him.
“Don't be absurd, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said sternly. “Our first order of business is most certainly to get you warmed up! Come upstairs. I'll prepare you a hot water bottle and a pot of tea for the both of us.”
Crowley moved slowly but didn't protest. Aziraphale suspected he wouldn't have the energy to argue even if he'd wanted to. Why had the poor man stayed downstairs all night shivering to death? Did Crowley think Aziraphale would be cross with him for going upstairs? For seeking warmth, life?
Aziraphale realized with a sudden guilty clarity that he had not once invited Crowley upstairs to his living space in the week Crowley had been living in the bakery. Partly Aziraphale had felt self-conscious of the many messes around his home, but it had also felt wise to maintain some form of boundaries. Now it all just seemed unbearably rude.
The obvious place to put Crowley was directly in Aziraphale's bed. The blankets were even likely to still be warm, Aziraphale had gotten out of them so recently. It was absurd, but Aziraphale couldn't help blushing at the salacious idea of having a handsome man in his bed. It had certainly been a while since that had happened. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley had heard the rumors about him in town yet. Would Crowley feel uncomfortable getting into the bed of a man attracted to other men?
Aziraphale needn't have worried. As soon as he brought Crowley into the bedroom, Crowley dived under the covers without a second thought. Apparently he was well past the point of caring about propriety. Then Crowley began shivering again, even under three thick blankets.
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said with a fresh wave of worry. “Oh Crowley, I'm so sorry I let things get this bad! I...I'll heat up that water right away!”
He turned to leave, but Crowley cried out sharply after him. “No!”
“...What?”
Crowley peeked a single eye out from beneath the covers. Was he glaring? Was he angry?
“Body heat,” he said in a clipped tone. “Cuddles. Now.” There was a shaky breath. “Please.”
It was the 'please' that got Aziraphale. He had always been like putty when people pleaded with him for things. He hurried back to Crowley's side, just hoping he was doing something right for a change.
0-0-0-0
Crowley was used to hard nights by now. Still, he had been concerned about the coming winter. It was too easy to die on the streets in weather like that. When the kitchen's temperature had begun to drop Crowley had curled up as best he could and prayed for morning. He couldn't risk anything else. What if the nice baker kicked him out, like an angel casting Crowley from heaven? What if Crowley had already used up all his second chances? He was cold, but he was still inside. He could survive this. He would survive.
The next thing Crowley was really aware of was the sensation of being warm. And comfortable. He knew those things didn't belong in his life anymore, but he chased the sensations like a dream anyway. His nose nuzzled against something soft. Something that smelled good...and human.
Slowly Crowley blinked back to awareness. He was in a bed. Aziraphale had found him shivering, brought him upstairs. Crowley remembered passing over-crowded bookcases on the way. Then more memories slotted into place. He recalled...a rather embarrassing demand.
It wasn't sexual. Of course it wasn't sexual. Crowley had been out of his mind with cold. He'd have constricted himself around a hot rock. Admittedly this was a lot nicer but, well, Crowley wasn't sure how he could get out of this entanglement without a very awkward conversation or two. He slowly moved his leg off of Aziraphale, hoping against hope that the kind baker he'd been crushing his crotch against was asleep and unaware.
“Crowley? Are you awake?” Aziraphale asked softly, but without a hint of sleepiness.
He froze. “Ah....”
“Oh, good!” Aziraphale quickly climbed out of the bed, leaving Crowley feeling strangely bereft. “I didn't want to leave you alone while you were still warming up. However, I'm afraid I really must run to the loo. I'll be back in a moment!”
Crowley blinked as Aziraphale hurried from the room. Alright. Well, that could have gone worse. Crowley was warm and alive and better-rested than he had been in weeks. Now he just had to...Wait, why was the room so bright?
There was daylight streaming in around the curtains. Strong daylight. Crowley's stomach plummeted and he quickly turned to the clock on the nightstand. He had been asleep, and aggressively cuddling his host, for hours.
The bakery was hopelessly behind schedule! Crowley practically jumped out of the bed with a bone-deep terror and the desperate need to prove he could still be useful. He needed to make sure that Aziraphale would still let him stay. He...He didn't want to go. Not yet.
He crashed into Aziraphale in the hall. They were both apparently in a great hurry to go in opposite directions.
“Ooof!”
“Sorry!”
“That's quite alright, my dear. I'm just happy to see you up and about. What do you say to a bit of brunch? Though I'm afraid you'd still have to do most of the cooking. My wrist is getting a bit better, but well...”
Aziraphale wasn't looking at Crowley. Instead he was focused on Crowley's left ear and blushing a lot more than one generally would about asking someone to help them cook. Crowley swallowed, feeling uncertain.
“Shouldn't we be getting started with, y'know, the baking? I...I've already made us so late!”
Aziraphale looked surprised. “My dear, I'm glad you're feeling better, but I'm certainly not going to expect you to work in the bakery today! You deserve a day to recover. Besides, I doubt many will be braving the outside as far as the shop today. It should be fine if we stay closed just this once. We'll get back on schedule tomorrow.”
That sounded...good. Too good to be true even. Crowley nodded, but watched Aziraphale carefully, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “...Alright then. In that case brunch sounds like a good idea.”
The house was still freezing, so Aziraphale went to “have a word with the furnace” while Crowley began cooking, a thick jumper pressed into his hands in the meantime. It smelled like Aziraphale. Despite Crowley's best efforts, that scent was starting to mean kindness to him too.
A few minutes later the radiator started making promising noises and Aziraphale returned, looking pleased. Crowley smiled and plated their food. He liked their mealtimes. They felt almost homey.
He didn't get much warning before Aziraphale frowned and looked away from him. “Um. About earlier...”
Crowley's cheeks immediately went as red as his hair. Fuck. So they weren't going to just pretend it hadn't happened. Right. Time to do some damage control. “Yes! Of course! Uh, I mean...thank you for letting me warm up and get some rest. You didn't have to. I would have been fine. Not that I'm not grateful! I just...I don't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness!”
Aziraphale blinked. “Taking advantage? What on Earth are you talking about? I want to apologize for leaving you to freeze last night! It's inexcusable. I knew winter was on its way and that my heating is touchy. I'm sorry that you had to suffer for my thoughtlessness.” He bit his lip, still looking rather miserable. “And I hope that I didn't make you too uncomfortable when I...when we...while we were upstairs.”
Now Crowley was staring as Aziraphale went pink. Crowley was used to being on guard, jaded and cynical about the world as a means of staying safe. Suddenly though, it was impossible not to see the vulnerable truth in front of him. Aziraphale was just as he seemed to be. He was as warm and soft as the bread he baked. And the world hadn't been very kind to him either.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley considered carefully, “you know you're...that you deserve good things, right? That you're not a coward or cruel or thoughtless?”
And Aziraphale gave him a familiar sad smile, clearly not believing him. Fine, he could be more direct if he had to.
“So...you fancy blokes, don't you?”
Aziraphale immediately chocked on a sip of tea. “I...well...what?”
Crowley shrugged. “It's fairly obvious. Makes a few comments folks have made make more sense too. I'm guessing it's one of the things that people have been ugly with you about over the years. Maybe even made you hate yourself.”
He continued gently. “I know you didn't mean anything lascivious this morning.” Crowley flicked his eyes up to briefly to meet Aziraphale's gaze squarely. “I didn't either.”
He tried to emphasize some layers of meaning in the sentence. Aziraphale stared back at him in wonder, each of them communicating something complicated and delicate.
“So,” Crowley said casually, “it seems we have a day off. What would you like to do with it? Got some books to catch up on?”
“Ah. Well.” Aziraphale sighed regretfully. “That would be truly lovely. Unfortunately I have a special assignment that I've been putting off. I really should take this time to focus on it. Though I'm not sure how much help that will be.”
“What do you mean?”
“It's about Marjorie Potts. You remember, the nurse you fetched when I hurt my wrist?”
Crowley quirked an eyebrow. It seemed they were past explicitly blaming him for Aziraphale's sprained wrist now. “I think I can recall the incident. If I stretch my memory.”
That earned him a rueful look, but Aziraphale continued. “In any case, Marjorie has recently gotten engaged to old Mr. Shadwell. She...asked me if I could make a cake for the wedding.”
Crowley raised both eyebrows at that. “And you told her that's impossible, right? I mean, I've only been in this baking business for a week, but making any cake sounds like more than you could handle right now even if you had both hands. Never mind a wedding cake! Does she actually want tiers? And frosting? I know you're good with potatoes, Aziraphale, but they can only do so much!”
But Aziraphale winced and looked guilty and it was easy to tell he had promised his friend the moon. “It's just...times are so hard right now. The people of this town deserve one nice day! A party! One day where everything looks the way it's supposed to and they can all be happy for a change!”
“Heh. You really are an angel, aren't you?” Crowley smirked as Aziraphale blushed. “I also think this is the reason you looked so miserable and sleep-deprived when I got here. It's just not in you to tell people 'no', is it?”
“Well, I...”
“Don't worry, angel. I think this is actually something I can help with.”
0-0-0-0-0-0
A few hours later Aziraphale was in his sitting room, attempting to enjoy the first real free time he'd had in weeks. He had a book open, an old favorite, but although his eyes were traveling the pages he wasn't taking in a word. He was here because of Crowley. Crowley had insisted that Aziraphale enjoy himself this afternoon, ushered him upstairs, and then turned himself into a whirlwind of energy.
That was what Aziraphale gathered from upstairs at any rate. For a while now he'd been listening to various mysterious, and sometimes alarming, noises coming from downstairs. There were bangs and swearing and then a brief peace where Crowley moved outside to shovel then disappeared for half an hour. At several points Aziraphale could have sworn he even heard a saw cutting through something. He was trying not to think too hard about it.
He was trying not to think too hard about several things. Like the way Crowley had started to call him angel. Or the way they had looked at each other over brunch. If Aziraphale thought about them, he might be inclined to believe they meant something and that seemed like a very dangerous idea indeed.
It was nearly five o'clock when Crowley finally called up to him. “Oi! Angel! Come down here! I have a surprise for you!”
Aziraphale bit his lip, but still wiggled with anticipation. He was certainly quite curious by now. The first thing he noticed on the way down the stairs was an odd smell. It was the aroma of a newly built house, all sawdust and fresh paint. What on Earth had his guest been up to?
His eyes widened as he turned into the kitchen. It was an absolute mess, but thankfully a well-managed one. Old newspapers had been laid out on every surface, catching bits of wood, cardboard, and paint. Aziraphale didn't pay them much mind though, because there was an honest-to-goodness three-tiered wedding cake sitting on his counter.
It was nothing short of a miracle.
“It's, um, it's not real. Obviously,” Crowley said sheepishly from beside it. “But from what you were saying, about things looking right for the wedding, I thought maybe this could be a good stand-in. It could make people feel a bit happier about it all.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale blinked rapidly, “it's magnificent! How did you make it look so realistic?”
“Eh...” Crowley shrugged and looked away. “I may have been a bit of an artist in a previous life. It's not important. I just heard this was something they were doing in London and I thought I'd try my hand at it.”
Aziraphale considered Crowley. An artist? This man just seemed to be full of endless secrets and surprises. “Well, you've certainly lifted a burden from me. This will be perfect! I'm sure Marjorie will love it.”
And Crowley smiled like he hadn't been complimented in a long time and he wasn't sure what to do with it. “Um. Okay. Thanks.”
They spent the rest of the day together, cleaning up and laughing. Aziraphale hadn't felt so happy in years. Soon though, it was time for them to get some sleep for another early day tomorrow. They both paused awkwardly over saying good-night.
“So I, um, I guess I'll head down to my cot,” Crowley said with obvious reluctance. “I mean, you fixed the heater, so I should be fine tonight.”
This was the moment Aziraphale had been dreading, the moment where he had to be brave and take a chance. He had to take the risk that he was doing something right. This time for both of them.
“You...” he gulped. “You don't have to. I mean, if you're not opposed, we've already proven there's more than enough space in my, er, room.”
Crowley looked just as nervous as Aziraphale felt. He prayed it was for the same reasons.
“You want me to sleep in your bed? With you? Tonight?”
“And as many nights as you'd like after that,” Aziraphale said, blushing furiously. “To...to keep warm. It's only practical. I'm certainly not going to expect anything else of you. I wouldn't want to presume or make you feel pressured or...” He trailed off. Crowley was brushing his hand along Aziraphale's cheek.
Crowley's gaze was dark and searching. “What if I wanted you to presume? What if I wanted to do more than keep you warm?”
He took a slow step forward toward Aziraphale. They were breathing each other's air now. Aziraphale felt dizzy, desperately trying to think straight. Was this right? Was this safe? He barely knew anything about Crowley and...and it didn't matter. Aziraphale had been alone far too long. Maybe he was being reckless, but he couldn't resist temptation any longer. He leaned forward and closed the final space between them.
Aziraphale had forgotten how good it felt to kiss, never mind kissing someone he genuinely liked. Crowley seemed out of practice too, but he more than made up for it with enthusiasm. Together they stumbled toward Aziraphale's bed and then spent a long amount of time learning every inch of each other's bodies.
It was good, so good, every moment of it.
Afterwards, they lay together, wrapped in each other's arms. Doubts started to worm their way back into Aziraphale's mind. He wanted this, more of this, so much it hurt. It scared him. He didn't know how to ask for things for himself. He didn't see himself as someone anyone else would choose. That whole day had been so perfect, but did that mean his heart would only be broken more in the end?
It took him a while to notice that Crowley was being quiet too. The air in the room was heavy with both their thoughts. Was he having fears? Regrets?
“Is something wrong, my dear?” Aziraphale found the courage to ask.
It took Crowley a moment to answer. He began to rub small circles on Aziraphale's back. “There are things you don't know about me.”
“...I know.”
“They're things you're better off not knowing. And some of them might make you regret being so kind to me.”
Aziraphale shifted from Crowley's chest and looked at the shadowy outline of his face. “I'm afraid of a great many things in this world, Crowley. Being kind is never one of them.”
“Don't you want to know my dark, mysterious past?”
“Do you want me to know about it?”
“No. Yes. Maybe someday. Not now.”
“Then I'll wait for someday, my dear.”
“It could take years,” Crowley warned.
Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley's hair. “I'm not planning on going anywhere. Are you?”
Crowley drew in a sharp breath. It sounded like a noise of disbelief. Maybe with a bit of hope. “I...Angel, I'll be here for as long as you'll have me.”
0-0-0-0-0-0
Perhaps there's something about the frightening nature of war that puts things in perspective for people. It made certain choices easier to make, sometimes easier to commit to.
Crowley and Aziraphale each suspected they were in love by the end of their first week together. They both admitted as much within a month, breathless and holding each other tight.
Marjorie's wedding with Mr. Shadwell was a delightful splash of light and color that winter, with everyone still in town attending. There was music and laughter and the town bakers were heartily encouraged to stay up late into the night. Marjorie made a point of introducing Crowley to everyone and crediting him with her gorgeous cake. The amount of welcome he felt that day left him taking a break to wipe his eyes more than once.
At one point Aziraphale joined him and they enjoyed a quiet dance together outside, surrounded by the glittering snow.
A few weeks later, Aziraphale's wrist finished healing. There was a tense moment when Crowley asked if Aziraphale still wanted him to stay. Were their feelings actually real? Had Aziraphale meant all the things he'd said to Crowley in the dark? Or was it enough that Crowley had simply paid his debt?
Aziraphale told him to stop being silly.
“I want you stay. I'll always want you to stay. Maybe it's too soon to ask for forever, but I have no doubt it's what I want. Is it what you want too?”
And Crowley had to pick Aziraphale up and kiss him, he felt filled with so much love.
There were years after that. Years with dark times and tragedy, but years where they both always had a reassuring hand to hold. The war finally ended. Some soldiers came home. Hope started to become less of a fool's dream.
Aziraphale learned Crowley's story with time, in bits and pieces. Some things Crowley told him, others he guessed, and a few things were rather dramatically revealed, requiring a very hectic week to square away.
He never once regretted being kind.
It was, in many ways, a piece of cake.
